


One More Stuffed Toy

by TsarinaTorment



Series: Fluffember [3]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Although I don't actually specify ages, Arcades, Family, Fluff, Fluffember 2020, Gen, I know they're in America but this is based on arcades I've been to, Implied Pre-Canon, Plushies, claw machine, fluffember, just aged another 40-odd years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27376774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment
Summary: The arcade is loud and chaotic, but John doesn’t care, because his brothers are with him.
Relationships: John Tracy & Alan Tracy, John Tracy & Gordon Tracy, Scott Tracy & Alan Tracy, Virgil Tracy & Gordon Tracy
Series: Fluffember [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996258
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	One More Stuffed Toy

**Author's Note:**

> I managed another one! Today’s #fluffember offering is for the third prompt ‘Together’, so of course we’ve got all five boys here!
> 
> (As a side note, FFN is still messing around with my fics, so I’m only going to be posting here and tumblr until next weekend. Maybe FFN will sort itself out by then).

The hustle and bustle should bother him. An introvert who only ever wanted to socialise with his family when socialising was required _“you can’t be a recluse forever, John!”_ , the complete and utter lack of silence surrounding him was as far from his comfort zone as he could be. Children shrieked, dodging around adults and immovable objects alike, while frantic parents chased them. Teenagers laughed too loudly, too freely, for the drinks in their hand to be anything but alcohol, and the young adults were worse – most likely because they didn’t have to hide what they were drinking.

Chocolate and candy was trodden into the carpet beneath his feet, discoloured patches also implying drink spills both from that day and many, many previous days, and the haze of smoke creeping in from the nearby window suggested a group of smokers and vapers had taken up residence too close to the building. Security wouldn’t do anything about it; they never did.

Interspersed between children’s screams of joy and drunken rowdiness was the unmistakable _clink, clink, clink_ of tokens slotting into machines and spilling out en masse to roars of delight. Closer to his current position, the _thud, thud-thud, thud_ of feet not quite in sync with the music that blared out of ancient machines and the _thwack, thwack, thwack_ of hard plastic hitting hard plastic – interspersed with groans and cheers when it instead went _clatter_ – assaulted his ears.

He should hate it. Too many bodies in one place; too much noise, no concept of personal space – it fit his personal brand of hell as if it was made for it. Maybe it was. But those out of sync _thud-thud-thud_ feet belonged to Alan and Scott, having some ridiculous dance off on a DDR machine that was held together with spit and a prayer at this point in its existence – he was sure it had been old when Grandma was young – and the _thwack-thwack-clatter_ of a chipped puck on an air table that barely produced any air anymore was drawing noises of defeat and triumph from Virgil and Gordon.

The arcade was ancient, dating back at least a hundred years, but for all that it was run down and a hang out for truants and the like, it was _fun_. John never visited by himself, the atmosphere really too hellish without the barriers of his brothers, but when the five of them wanted to get out of the house for a bit and just have some fun, he tagged along with no complaints.

He didn’t play on the DDR, not after falling over one time too many. He didn’t play air hockey, either, after the puck kept hitting his fingers rather than the plastic lump it was supposed to. The digital games had terrible graphics, not even holographic they were so old, which hurt his eyes, and everything else was too rigged, too noisy, too much of a waste of money to bother with.

The claw, though? Perfectly positioned between the DDR – Alan hadn’t beaten Scott yet, despite vows to the contrary – and the air hockey table – Virgil and Gordon were a pretty even match, but there was something just a little bit more _vicious_ about Gordon’s hits – it let him use his brothers as a barrier against the rest of the world. And he was _good_ at it. Already, he could feel security’s eyes on him, but they wouldn’t come over.

They never did, anymore. Accusations of cheating hadn’t done them too well years ago when Scott had got involved, affronted and _furious_ that they’d think he’d do that and forced them to watch as he beat the machine again with pure skill, and Scott’s vitriol was something even security didn’t care for the hassle of. Besides, they pumped enough money into the arcade, now that they had extra money to spare, that it wasn’t worth the company’s while to ban them. John still felt their eyes on him, though, as he guided the claw deftly along its slightly rusted, halting pulley system.

It was Alan’s turn today. Actually, it was Scott’s, but Scott didn’t care for stuffed toys anymore – not even ones won for him by John – so Alan got the lucky extra pick (it alternated between the terrible two; Virgil refusing the extra whenever offered) and today he wanted the red bear. Alan always wanted the red things.

The toys were the only thing in the arcade that looked younger than fifty. Covered in dust by virtue of the fact that the only person that could ever win at the claw was John, the pile of toys still didn’t look freshly new anymore, but condition never mattered to them.

To John, what mattered was the challenge (less of a challenge now he had it down to an art, but it still required a measure of concentration). To his brothers, what mattered was that he’d won it for them, a gift from brother to brother.

Under his fingers, the claw descended down, down, down, and snagged the chosen bear snugly around the middle. No hanging by a thread, no fear it wouldn’t survive the journey to the chute. Nice and secure, perfectly done as always.

For all the dust, it was still soft when he collected it from the dispenser, ignoring the rolled eyes of spectating security. He gave it a quick brush and blow to get the worst of the dust off, before turning to the DDR. Scott was, as usual, winning, quick on his feet and reflexes honed in a way their youngest brother just couldn’t match, and John watched with a small smile on his face as the song ended, Alan letting out a theatrical groan. Scott ruffled his hair encouragingly, “next time, kid” spilling from his mouth as always, and John took his cue.

“Alan.”

The blond shot around, hands flying to catch the tossed toy. He assessed it silently for a moment, clearly checking that it was the _right one_ – a habit taught to him by Gordon, who could never resist claiming John had got the wrong one even though that had never happened – before bursting into a giant grin, DDR defeat already forgotten.

“Thanks, John!” The bear was crushed to Alan’s chest, making him look even younger than he was.

John smiled back at him, sparing a momentary glance for Scott, who looked every inch the proud big brother he was as he ruffled Alan’s hair again, to quick protest. “Any time.”

“Me next!” sounded from behind him, and he turned to see Gordon standing, arms crossed but air hockey striker still clenched in his hand, a couple of steps away from the table. Behind the blond, Virgil rolled his eyes in amusement and sent the puck into the abandoned goal a few times. The old, digital scoreboard that couldn’t show complete numbers anymore switched to one in his favour.

John sighed, but gestured to the claw. “Which one?” Gordon ran the two steps’ worth of distance and pressed his face to the glass, fogging it up with his breath and leaving prints when he pulled back.

“That one!” he declared. A goldfish, this time. It was always aquatic for Gordon.

“I’ll see what I can do,” John agreed, inserting a token to restart the game. It was enough for Gordon, evidently, as he turned back to his game with Virgil and squawked when he saw the new score line.

John ignored the ensuing commotion as he stretched his hands and clicked his fingers. Time for the next one.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Tsari


End file.
